Words of Silence
by barefootbean
Summary: A collection of fifty one-shots for goldensun100 prompts over on Livejournal. Genre, spoilers, and ratings will vary.


**Part of GoldenSun100's 50 Themes Challenge- 50 Prompts  
><strong>**Prompt #32 Silence**

**Title: _Words of Silence  
><em>****Hurt/Comfort/Romance_  
><em>****Matthew/Sveta**

**A/N: **I swear, this was _not_ supposed to turn into an angst fest when I sat down to write this prompt earlier. But as such is my luck, Volechek snuck in and ruined my lovely plans with his glorifying martyrdom and big head. What. A. Pain. Soo uuuuh... I'll just go write up a more cheerful prompt for these two now—Yep, I think that's what I'll do... And maybe dig myself a grave while I'm at it, because cripes, _angst_. :| (Watch out for the weird context, btw. It bites.)

* * *

><p>"<em>Matthew? Are you awake?<em>"

In hindsight, he hadn't been expecting anyone else.

The door cracked, and he watched in silence. Words hadn't left him so much as he had choked on them, bunched in his throat from grief and lodged permanently after. It wasn't so much that he didn't have the desire to speak—no, anything but that—it was rather that everything had already been said without having been spoken. ...He'd always been a quiet person, anyway, and she complimented him for that on multiple occasions.

The first being when Belinsk had been swallowed by the haze.

And the second—the descent from the Apollo Lens. Though, he hadn't been the only silent person that day, and the emotional turmoil within everyone took their tolls sooner rather than later—but _his_ grief had come later, because he was the leader, and public displays of dramatics were the last thing he wanted in the delicate present state of things.

Sveta entered the room tentatively at first, as it was his private quarter's and they both knew she was not the type to invite herself in without a fallible explanation pertaining to why (though, there was a number of them he could name—any of them would have sufficed as a sensible motive for someone practical like herself), fingers clasped against her chest as gold bursts of light saw fit to invade the empty space behind her and climb up the walls and dance circles upon the ceiling with each soft padding of her feet she took.

Her presence was warming in and of itself, but the light that followed was no longer so gentle as he had once known it to be.

What would once have offered comfort now left nothing but a sour taste in Matthew's mouth. Even with all the water he drank, he still felt as though he were burning, skin crawling and threatening to peel off his bones in layers. He could have melted through the floorboards, slipped around in his own puddles of sweat.

It was the fever, Rief had told him, that was making him as sensitive as he was.

When it broke, that's when the emotional discord would snap in the back of his throat, and all those words that left him toiling in bed for days long past would finally end his silence. What he had been longing to say to her would be said at long last.

"...Matthew?"

_Here. I'm here._

Though she wasn't listening to his mind, because while his was still struggling to say alive, hers had shut down entirely. She was unreachable and he trapped in the workings of his own thoughts—for better or worse, he was leaning towards the former as far as he could go. Leaning so far he could have easily have slipped off the mattress and pressed his face to the floorboards. He would've kissed it if he could, the cold floor; it probably would have tasted better than the sandpaper in his mouth, anyway.

_I'm just recovering, _he had told Sveta earlier in the morning, though he suspected she hadn't believed him when her lips tugged down and she gave him a weary look that clearly said otherwise. Or perhaps it wasn't that she didn't believe him:

She simply couldn't hear him.

He didn't hold any particular fondness for grief – though, who did? – and even less for rage, though it was easier to keep to himself, he reasoned, and simpler for everyone else involved. Everyone mourned. While he ached physically, they mourned mentally, and when he wondered when everything had gone wrong, they pondered why their neighbors lay butchered like cattle in the streets. Happiness obviously wasn't present. Not in the light that he was now seeing.

And he knew it wasn't in _her _vision, either. She wouldn't be visiting for any other reason than to seek his company.

"Can I sit next to you?"

He hadn't even noticed when she'd approached him – a beacon of silver Sveta should have been – she blended into the dark as well as he did beneath the thick blankets of his cot. It was concerning, because he found her to be more alluring when he could see her. And when he couldn't, it was worrisome, because the only times he couldn't see her was when she was hiding.

At face value, it should have been easy to depict what she was thinking after everything they'd witnessed involuntarily together, she wore her emotions plainly like an open book, and yet–

It should have been even easier to know what she was _feeling_. And he could only make assumptions on the amount of grief that was plaguing her.

_I'm sorry. I wish I could say things that would reassure you._

But she still wasn't listening. She didn't even hear the snap of his heart in his chest as it finally cracked in two when she pressed her arm lightly to his, flesh to flesh and the thunder in his ears, and took a seat at her place beside him, fingers entwining with his own calloused ones as softly as she could as if _he_ were the fragile minded one and not herself.

_Really, I'm_ fine_. Worry about yourself, would you please?_

He watched her over the bridge of his nose, because it hurt too much as to simply turn his head to view her better, and she'd probably vanish like a ghost if he did otherwise.

She was certainly pale enough to be one. Had she been eating since...?

"How are you feeling?" Other hand pressed to his face, nose scrunched slightly. Quirked lips as if she was in the middle of a private joke that he would digress to.

Her breath was warm on his face, and at one point or another, he was sure he would close his eyes, it felt so nice... But he knew he wouldn't remember if he did. Slender fingers taut around his own, he squeezed lightly. It was a reassurance that he couldn't voice, and one that she couldn't hear.

_Listen, Sveta..._

"Matthew? Would you like me to fetch Rief...?" Fingers brushing the hair from his eyes because he couldn't do it himself so she could view him better.

_No. Just stay. You're not doing anything else, are you? I know you're upset..._

"I'm sorry I have not been of much help to you—to everyone. It's just been... difficult these past couple days." She finally sprawled out beside him, and the cot rocked lightly, back and forth and forth and back again... A pale ghost with silver hair and clever eyes... and cold nose and numb finger tips—and did he mention how _brittle_ she looked?

It was hard to see without the light, but his senses told him to keep the room drawn _shut_.

_Difficult? You have every reason to be selfish, Sveta. Every, single, reason–_

_It's okay to want, you know. It's okay._

Her breath was a hazy breeze on his cheek. "I _am_ happy that the Grave Eclipse is over, but I still feel sick when I think about it... about everything. Even the simplest things... It's silly, really. I_ should_ be very happy—and I am, but also... I... am at times... not happy at all."

She shifted against him lightly, silence claiming her voice as well. It was disappointing, because in his dark room, she was the only tune that he wanted to hear. And the shadows were eating at everything.

"Matthew..."

It came out like a murmur, and for all the things he couldn't say, there were actions he could take.

"_...I really wish things could have ended differently. For everyone._"

In the steady thumping of her heart and the racing of his own, his soft squeeze spoke volumes and drew back the empty curtains hanging over them both. The movement hurt, but if he could make her listen again, maybe even _smile,_ he reasoned it was a small price to pay for the reality that haunted them both.

_I know. I only miss him _for you_._

She drew closer, fingers still entwined in his like the vines that grew along the trunks of a tree. Hair caressed his face, smooth and delicate and a foot brushed his; he could feel her body heat even through the sheets and she sighed, sinking in against him.

"Matthew?" She spoke slowly, in dying whispers now. "I don't expect you to respond to this, but I feel as though it should be said..."

_Yeah?_

"Thank you... for listening. I enjoy your company, and I realize I am probably more of a nuisance than anything, but... I do appreciate everything that you've done for me. Really, I..." she paused, and in the dark he could picture her gnawing her lip, contemplating her words and placing them carefully like one would arrange a bouquet of roses. "...I... simply just thought it might be something of interest you would like to hear... That's all."

He wanted her ghosts to fade. When she was no longer deaf and he no longer mute he knew the words he wanted to utter wouldn't be so hard to come by. Because they would be there, not in his throat, but on the tip of his tongue where he would be able to savor in their sweetness—and their delight.

_I know, Sveta. That's one thing you don't have to voice._


End file.
